Race on TV

back in the late 70′s, every saturday evening my family would watch the love boat and fantasy island, the latter being my favorite. i loved to see the opening credits and watch the pontoon plane glide into the lush beautiful island, landing on the water.  although, i always felt funny when the little person in the white suite would ring the bell yelling, “da plane! da plane!”

in those days there was little latino representation on TV.  but there was Ricardo Montalbán, as Mr. Roarke from fantasy island, and Hervé Villechaize, as Tattoo, Mr. Roake’s small assistant. i could relate with Tattoo. he was childlike, innocent, vulnerable and brown.

not only could i relate to Tattoo, but i also bore a striking resemblance to him. especially in my easter outfit.  there i stood in a white shirt, white pants, white socks and shoes, chubby cheeks, brown skinned, and the same hair cut!  i looked like a little person.

i knew there was something physically wrong with Tattoo, and i thought that meant there was something physically wrong with me.  after much ado about why i wouldn’t wear the outfit, i finally confessed to my insecurities, and mom let me change.

thank goodness hollywood has evolved, and there are a litany of latina stars; America Ferrera, Selma Hayek, Eva Longoria, Sofia Vargas, and Selena Gomez to name a few.

for trinidad

once again, some body came knocking on my door and woke me up this morning. it was the neighbor informing me that my cat was dead in the street. my heart sank as i grabbed my shoes and went outside to identify the poor little fuzzy body.  i was relieved to see that it wasn’t my humphrey. i hope the cat didn’t suffer.

i’ve watched people around me die, and i’ve watched the reaction of the people whose loved ones are dying. the deaths that are hardest to shake are those where suffering was involved. my aunt had parkinsons and was in a coma for a month before she died.  i think she was conscious. when ever i would visit her and play “swan lake” she would cry.  or rather, silent tears ran down her face. her birthday is on the 19th. her memory is celebrated.

Shear Terror

i don’t like getting my hair cut.  i do, however, enjoy the feeling of freshly cut hair.  it feels lighter and healthier, and the head massage i get when my hair is being shampooed is pretty swell. but then there’s a feeling of helplessness and vulnerability with those sharp little scissors flying around my head and neck, occasionally nipping my ear.  what if the hair dresser doesn’t like my face and gives me a bad haircut, or slightly worse, stabs me in the eye or jugular?

growing up, mom would always take me to the beauty school where two bucks would get you a haircut from a student cosmetologists. the day before may last day of first grade, mom thought i should get my hair cut.  well, the lady butchered my hair.  she tried to give me the newest style, commonly known these days as a mullet.  my entire head endured a buzz cut, while the hair around my neck was kept long.

i went home and cried.  the next morning i refused to go to the last day of school. i remember standing outside the classroom, still crying while mom talked to the teacher and collected my personal belongings from my desk and cubbyhole.

i should have gone to class and enjoyed the last day of school festivities, instead of worrying so much about getting unwanted attention because of what i looked like.  after all, hair grows back but opportunities do not.

gilded icage

i put my bird into a 15 minute time-out for misbehaving this morning.

i met her at the park about two years ago when i noticed some school kids huddled around a picnic table. they dispersed as their teacher blew the whistle, and what remained was a little green bird with a band around its ankle.  i walked over and pulled out a little piece of left over apple from my bag. as she reached over to grab it, i heard a piercing cry from above, and a hawk came charging at her.  the little bird screeched as the hawk carried her away in its claws, and i sprinted after the pair waiving my hands hysterically in the air.  the hawk, for whatever reason, released the poor bird and she flew into a nearby tree.  and i, for whatever reason, couldn’t let it go.

i posted her picture on craigslist and tried to rescue her.  neighbors in the area even lent a hand.  one in particular climbed the tree where she had perched and tried to grab her.  but this only spooked the bird and the hawk once again attacked her.  she narrowly escaped into a thick shrub.  after six days of trying, with the help of a few volunteers from the local bird and rescue, we caught her.

i used to wonder if it would have been better to let her live her last few days in the park, but i don’t really think about it anymore.

Not looking for trouble, but trouble’s looking for me.

i had an anxiety attack late the other night.  i heard a noise coming from the crawl space  and figured i was about to be raped and murdered.  instead of the usual tactic of pulling the covers over my head and hoping the boogie man doesn’t get me, i mustered up the courage to get up and lock my bedroom door.

as i lay in bed, with the covers over my head(just in case), i thought about my cousin when she was competing for her state beauty queen pageant. she became a local celebrity which included her own personal stalker.  while in her bedroom she noticed the door to the crawl space above her bed was slightly ajar. when she went up to investigate she discovered convenience store cups.  the police were called, and they eventually caught the culprit that was residing in her attic, watching her as she slept.

Oh, What a Thing.

on saturday i was awoken by a neighbor knocking on my door.

“is this your dog?” she asked and pointed down to a white pit bull with brown spots, “it’s on your porch and almost got hit by a car.”

“no, it’s not mine,” i replied as i wiped the morning out of my eyes and squatted down to pet the dog.

“oh, it’s so sweet,” the neighbor exclaimed when the dog showed approval of my affection by peeing on its self.

this part’s a little hazy, but somehow i saw the neighbor lady walking back to her home and found my self on my porch, with a pit bull standing next to me.

“i guess we need to get you leashed up and find your home,” i told the dog instead of thinking about the fact that i have two cats and a bird.  and before i knew it the dog pushed past me, knocked me down, and had my 17 year old cat in its mouth.  i ran over, grabbed the dog by its muzzle, and pried its jaw open while the cat released itself and ran into hiding.  i had to get rid of this dog.  i grabbed the car keys and drove her straight to the humane society.  and it wasn’t open.  as i waited for half an hour in the parking lot, all i could think about was that somewhere in my house, the poor old cat is bleeding to death.  i payed $35 dollars to be rid of “chompy, the cat killa” and to have the humane society call her parents and spring her, since she was chipped.

i rushed home to look for the ancient cat.  i called out to her and there was not a meow.  so i started to clean in hopes she would pop out, and i threw my damp clothes from last night’s laundry into the dryer.  thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, i heard.  oh, dear lord!  well, as you have probably guessed, when i opened the door, there peeped the dear old cat wrapped up in clothes.  i grabbed her rag-a-muffin fluffy butt out of the drier and carefully inspected her.  she was fine, not even a scratch.

well this is embarrassing

about a month ago i managed to get pulled into my evaporative cooler. i stupidly did not turn the cooler off before i decided to change out the pump. while i was fixing the damn thing a gust of wind sucked my ponytail straight into the pulley wheel. the motor stopped at first, due to the hair blockage, but as soon as the hair “settled” the wheel began to spin again wrapping up my hair around it even further, and thus knocking my head up against the steel wheel. i quickly unplugged the motor and called out for help. my neighbor heard me, luckily, and called 911. ten minutes later my saviors arrived. my vision was blocked and all i could see were blue pants scurrying all around me.

“well this is something we’ve never seen,” i heard one of them say, while another lifted me up and slid his lap underneath me.

“okay if we cut your hair?” i heard being asked. i responded emphatically with a yes. but as they tried to cut they realized that i was pegged, and there was no way of getting the scissors between my scalp and the rusted metal.

“just cut it out right there, and we can slide her out,” i heard.

“no, let’s go through here,” i head another say. and a few minutes later i could hear what sounded like a chain saw followed by excrussiating pain as the metal structure vibrated uncontrollably. i screamed. i yelled. my guy, the one with the lap that i sat on, told them to stop. and they stopped.

“don’t be scared. it’s okay,” i heard them say. and they tried again. the pain once again was unbearable and i yelled again.

“stop! stop!” he yelled back at them and then said, “if you did what i said in the first place we could have had her out ten minutes ago.”  by now my breathing had accelerated and i felt like my body and mind were quitting.

“breathe,” he said to me, and i refocused and thought of my breathing. it was at this point that i heard them leaving the roof. they came up with the jaws of life, hydraulic scissors on steroids. then it started again, the noise of metal on metal. this time it didn’t pull. i could hear a loud snap. “it’s okay one down five to go, you’re going to be okay,” i heard my guy say.

“glad we got these yesterday,” i heard another proclaim. i’m pretty sure he was serious. after the last cut was made i could feel the cylinder slide out, “grab on to this,” some one yelled. i held on to a metal object and soon enough i was free. it took an hour. they freed me and i clung on to the man with the lap as he lifted me up in his strong arms.

“put her in the shade,” was what i heard being barked out. i felt them form an assembly line and pass me from one rescure worker to another. they sat me on the roof in the shade and i was free, and in love with my guy, the one with the lap.